


The Silence of 1am

by Sashataakheru



Category: British Comedy RPF, Taskmaster (UK TV) RPF
Genre: Alex being Alex, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Free Verse, Late night thoughts, Poetry, Silence, reflections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashataakheru/pseuds/Sashataakheru
Summary: Silence is usually defined as the absense of sound, but that's not how Alex counted it.
Relationships: Alex Horne/OFC, Greg Davies/Alex Horne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	The Silence of 1am

**Author's Note:**

> Look sometimes complete poems fall into my head at 1am, and this is one of them. Has had a little editing for things I forgot to add, but otherwise, it is as is. <3

Alex found himself counting silences  
curious as to how many there were,  
because of course there were as many  
different kinds of silences as there were  
little brown jobs flitting through the trees,  
excluding identification,  
making his father curse,  
because that silence,  
of waiting for birds,  
was altogether different  
to the silence of midnight  
where the whole world stopped, and  
nothing moved,  
and all he could hear were the sounds of the night,  
and the sound of his own breath,  
or the silence of Christmas Eve   
when he's just falling asleep,  
and is so utterly sure he can hear sleighbells,  
but perhaps it's just the wind,  
which did not hold a candle to  
the silence that came from   
being told to be quiet,  
to not make a sound,  
the sort of silence   
that made Alex withdraw,  
that was different again  
to the need to be quiet while  
hiding from his brothers,  
waiting to be found,  
trying so hard not to laugh,  
and give himself away,  
which was a different silence to  
the silence of thinking,  
when he was churning a problem  
over in his mind,  
waiting for the pieces to fall together,  
and the answer revealed,   
and of course nothing topped the silence  
that held so strongly in that moment  
before he kissed her for the first time,  
feeling her lips on his,  
feeling so many things at once,  
and the anticipation that  
strangled all the sound from the air,  
as he dared to touch her, rest a hand on her hip,  
kiss her again, and again, and again,  
while the night held its witness,  
and then there was the silence before going on stage,  
baited breath, audience noise, and murmured lines,  
the silent room before anyone was let in,  
hearing his voice echoing in very strange ways,  
these silences were pauses, held anticipation,  
waiting, just waiting, for the show to begin,  
or the happy silence that followed him home  
from a night out with mates,  
and those small little moments where  
friends don't need to speak,  
that always seem so hard to grasp,  
but that was no match for  
the silence that held space  
in that moment when he asked for her hand,  
feeling sure of the answer,   
but still holding his breath,  
until she said yes,  
and that same silence returned   
until she said 'I do',  
and Alex could have cut the air with a knife,  
but now there were new kinds of silence to count,  
such as being home alone,  
listening to the street,  
the silence of dawn,   
the silence of dusk,  
the silence of lying awake at night,  
while she's sleeping beside him,  
reassured by her breathing that  
he was no longer alone,  
those whispered conversations about hopes and dreams,  
or lying together as morning drifted on,  
not wanting to rise, to get out of bed,  
but stay here with her forever,  
the kinds of silences where   
he didn't want to speak in case it broke the magic,  
the silence of 2am,   
the silence of London,  
of waiting for trains on empty platforms,  
how rain falls in the woods,  
the silence of a graveyard,  
with nothing but birds for company,  
and the silence of a jungle was different again,  
even that first moment when he held his sons,  
that silence so awesome and filled with love,  
which again changed the silences he found,  
as they became fleeting, different,  
changed shape, slipped away,  
to marvel at when he could find them,  
a moment to himself,  
to make the most of,  
while it lasted,  
grasping silence in little moments now,  
such as when his children were finally asleep,  
or if he was the last one awake,  
finally able to think,  
walking at night still held its charm,  
the silence now different in a small town,  
there was still the silence of doubt  
at 1am,  
anxious thoughts demanding attention,  
just as he was falling asleep,  
or the things that went through his head  
as he made the long drive home at night,  
or the silence of walking through the snow,  
with its own peculiar sounds,  
or those moments he could catch,   
alone with Him, remembering  
what London sounded like at night,  
in the quiet, at midnight,  
finding some sort of peace,  
as He held him close,  
and kissed him, just softly, like a breeze,  
there were so many different silences  
that Alex could count,  
and he was sure there were others   
he hadn't experienced yet,  
as he lay there in bed,  
counting up on each hand,  
needing the number to form   
before he could close his eyes,  
and let a different silence take hold,  
that moment that comes  
just as you fall as sleep,  
where your mind starts wandering,  
things sound so strange,  
until you can't hear them,  
and sleep makes its charm,  
giving him one more silence  
he will never truly hear,  
as the silence of sleep  
drifts past out of reach,  
and Alex, unaware, lets it go.


End file.
